


Just A Visit To The Thames Café

by Love_you_a_latte



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Immortality, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:55:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Love_you_a_latte/pseuds/Love_you_a_latte
Summary: He was a man out of time, and you were a woman without it.You had fallen in love, and he had left.He had held on to every memory, you had tried to forget.All these years later, you see him again, and you're not sure you can face him.A long time ago, you and Steve Rogers fell in love. But time separated you. Steve died, you kept living, then he came back to life, and you gave up yours for a love that never lasted. Now a mortal immortal, you've already lost your world to love.But Steve lost his love to the world.And he wants you back.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Reader, Steve Rogers & Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 54





	1. Winter

The Brooklyn streets were cold at night. Amidst the snow and stars, the lights on the tips of skyscrapers flickered in the darkness. The wind picked up its pace, howling across Prospect Park. The park, illuminated by its black lamps, stood strongly against the weather, though its ponds were frozen over, and its trees shook in the wind. Underneath their quivering boughs stood one lonely man, caught up in memories of what used to be. To him, the park was still as it was over eighty years ago, covered in blossoms and green grasses that had been in full bloom the day he met you. 

Though the wind kept howling, and the snow kept falling, he stood there and let it collect on the hood of his dark jacket. For now, smiling face lifted towards the night sky, all he could hear was your laughter, and all he could feel was the warmth of the blood that rushed to his face every time you were near.

He was awoken from his reverie by a familiar voice.

"You should be at home," James Buchanan Barnes yelled over the wind, but his friend wouldn't budge. He fought against the wind, and reached forward to grasp the man's shoulder.

"Steve!" He shouted. "Steve! We're going inside now. There's a café around the corner where we can get you warmed up."

Steve took one last long look at the starry night dusted with snow, and turned to follow his best friend. They trudged through the drifts, and struggled to keep their eyes open. It felt like an eternity before they reached the café on the corner of Berkely Place and Plaza Street West.

The Thames Café was a quaint one, with maroon and Navy awnings and wrought-iron lights that barely managed to keep their hold in the brick walls. Inside, the soft orange lamps and fairy lights along the counter gave it a cozy vibe. Most of the seating was mismatched booths, found at various garage sales and such, and almost every one was a little different. Along the windows, the sills had cushions stapled on, with pillows on top of them. From inside, the Prospect park looked beautiful covered in a blanket of snow.

The men took a moment to remove a few layers, and shake the snow off boots and coats and hats before crossing the welcome mat with the black cat.

They took their seats at the nearest table, and sat watching each other.

"You need to stop this, Steve," Barnes prompted, but there was no passion in his words. They were empty. He knew his friend would never listen.

"I know."

It was at this moment that you chose to appear behind the counter, practically glowing in the yellow blouse you wore and the golden, glittering eyeshadow.

You took Bucky's breath straight from his mouth. You tended to have that effect on people. But Steve's breath halted in his throat entirely. Because, even if he wanted to breath, he couldn't. Because it was you.

And you? Well... You ran. Didn't even pause to say hello.

It only took seven steps to reach the back door of the Thames café, and only eighteen more to reach your car. It took three seconds to unlock it, and two to start.

It took hours of pacing your studio apartment to calm down.

Neither man had been given enough time to react. You were halfway home by the time either could move, let alone process what they had just seen.

"Was that..." Was all Barnes could say, and Steve's breath was still waiting to be released from his windpipe. He let it out in a gasp, and nearly threw the table forward onto Bucky's lap as he stood up in a rush. He didn't waste time grabbing his outerwear, but instead hopped over the counter to follow after you.

But you were already long gone. And the retired Captain didn't know where you lived. He never had, and he never would. You made sure of that.

❈

You never thought you'd miss him. And yet, you had. Almost every day. To be fair, it wasn't easy with his face plastered on every billboard, every movie screen, every News station. His name was on the lips of every passerby, his praises floating from their mouths and into your ears to taunt you. Some spoke of his bravery, some of his kindness, a rare few of their general dislike, and a few of his face. They'd say how blue his eyes were, or how soft his lips looked, or how sweet his smile was, not knowing that they could never look so deep into his eyes as you had, or kiss those lips long and slow under the moonlight, or make him smile as wide as you had. But it didn't matter. It all happened so many years ago.

You were sure he had forgotten you, but you should've known it wasn't possible. Steve never forgot anyone. And especially not you.

So when you saw him sitting there, mouth agape, looking at you as if you had just descended from the stars themselves, you ran. Naturally.

You ran as fast as you could, and then paced as fast as you could until you worried that you would wear a hole in the carpet that your landlord had just gotten deep cleaned.

After everything, he was back in Brooklyn. Which was great for him, you reasoned, because he had grown up here. The only problem was, you had returned at the same time.

It was like some sort of sick movie, and you hated it. Maybe it was because you didn't want to reveal your secret, maybe you didn't believe the spark could be rekindled, or maybe you were ashamed. But to speak to him meant to explain everything, and you weren't ready for that. The very thing that had kept you alive to see him was now your end with no reward, and that hurt you. So many years had been wasted in one moment: the moment you decided to give your immortality to love a man.

Here was Steve, back in Brooklyn, and back in your hair, and you couldn't bring yourself to spend more than a second in his presence. Because even though the long years had changed you both, you knew he would still see right through you. After all, you could see right through him. You knew he was searching for answers that you couldn't provide. 


	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve resorts to crafty ways to remind you that he still loves you.

"I can always hear music in my mind. It's my own melody", you had whispered, eyes still shut, face lifted upward to feel the breeze ghost over your chin.

He had asked you why you were always dancing, even when the world was quiet.

"Besides, the world is never really quiet. There are always sounds."

You opened your eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the sunlight and the intense spring colors all around you. Before you, in a soft gray suit a few sizes too big, was Steve Rogers. There was always a tinge of melancholy in the corners of his eyes, but never at the corners of his lips. They were endlessly upturned in a smile, directed at whoever may pass by. For now, that "whoever" was you.

"How about we get some ice cream?" You recommended, and he smiled even wider, a silent agreement between the two of you.

Under the candy-striped umbrella of the ice cream stand, you ordered two vanilla scoops in sugar cones, and watched a line of children form behind you.

"Should we, walk and eat?" Steve offered, unsure. He was forever insecure, you had discovered. Maybe the same threads of insecurity that had woven their way into everything he was were also the ones that tinged the corners of his eyes with melancholy, though you would never know. You didn't know a lot about Steve.

But instead of asking him to show you the source of his blue heartstrings, you strolled through the park, licking vanilla ice cream as fast as you could before it melted. You caught yourself watching him for too long, and were rewarded with dribbles of ice cream on your bright yellow dress. Steve, ever the gentleman, helped you clean it up.

It was easier this way; never discussing anything too serious. Instead, you would alight like birds on small pieces of your characters, then move on before you became too pulled in. There were always questions of what the pair of you were, or who you were beneath all the jokes and laughter and trips to the ice cream stand, but you let them hang in the air. Instead of asking them, he asked others while you sat on the bench under the oak tree.

"What's your favorite film?"

"I can't decide."

"Favorite color?"

"Yellow. It's so... Happy."

"Favorite flowers?"

"Pink roses."

The next time you saw Steve, he had been drafted. And suddenly, those questions you had been airing like clean laundry had to be kept somewhere.

You had kissed him. One time. Two times. Three times. Left a red peck of lipstick on each cheek, and on his own lips. But, like your relationship, they would soon be swept away by life. They weren't promises, after all. Just jokes and laughter and trips to the ice cream stand.

He had told you that he loved you.

And you had told him that no, he couldn't possibly love you, because he hardly knew you. In that moment, the same melancholy that always lived in the corners of his eyes migrated down to the corners of his lips, which curved down. He was sad.

So you left.

The last time you saw Steve, you had been boarding a train in Georgia, where the air was so thick you needed gills to breath. You had turned to wave goodbye to the kind, pin-striped ticket booth clerk that had helped you carry your bags, when you had caught his eye.

There was Steve Rogers, standing on the platform. Except, it wasn't Steve. This man wore a simple white shirt and pants, and had to be the most muscular man you had ever laid eyes on. At first, you wondered if the glare of the sun on the ticketbooth's roof had impaired your vision, but it hadn't. He had changed so much in just a few weeks.

You shared that moment, together, until the whistle blowed. And then you were gone. No words exchanged, just a glance filled with laundry never folded, never taken in.

Now, standing in your apartment alone, all the old memories came rushing back. You could still see his face from the Thames Café hovering in your mind, haunting you. He had looked so shaken, as if he had seen a ghost. After all, hadn't he? What more were you than a ghost---a memory of what was---to him? To the world?

It would have been better for everyone if he hadn't seen you.

❈

Prospect Park was, as spring would always have it, bursting into millions of colors. Normally, you would have taken all the time in the world to smell the flowers and wander under the boughs of trees that you had watched grow to impossible heights. But you were so cautious since you saw Steve. Enjoying the park wasn't worth being caught.

Even so, you couldn't stop your feet from carrying you farther into its center. And as you grew closer, you could see the trunk of your favorite oak tree. It was far older than you, which was a relief. Most things were younger than you.

The nearer you got, the clearer you could see the bench that you and Steve always sat on. Leaning against it's armrests was something bright pink. It wasn't until you held it in your arms that you realized it had been left for you.

It was a great big bundle of pink roses.

Your favorite flowers.

Though you looked around, you saw no one of consequence. Mostly couples, and families out for the afternoon. No sign of the man you inwardly wanted to see, but outwardly ran from.

Little did you know, that gazing down from the boughs above, Steve sat perched. He knew you wouldn't think to look up. Because the Steve you knew wouldn't have thought of climbing so high, let alone have had the energy.

From where he sat, he could wonder at the way the light from above danced across your face, and love the way you stuffed your nose into the bouquet to smell the roses. Though it had been nearly a century, you hadn't changed much. You were still you.

When you returned to work at the Thames Café, you did so cautiously, even if there was no need. Steve Rogers hadn't shown up to claim his old flame.

But every once in a while, you'd turn your back on the shop for a moment. And when you'd look back around, a fresh bouquet of pink roses, or a few dollars with a Post-It note reading "for ice cream" in unmistakeable scrawl would be sitting on the counter.

So many years had passed, and you were still letting all the important questions linger. 

For now, you just smelled the roses.

But you can only smell the roses until Spring ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!! This is the second chapter to this short story. I have no idea if I'll continue it, but I was really in the mood to write something more artistic than my other content.  
> Hope you enjoyed it!  
> Please let me know what you think! I appreciate any and all feedback.


	3. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You send Steve a letter in an attempt to mend what's broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is going longer than I expected.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Warning: this hasn't been edited because I'm mega lazy.

It was now the middle of summer: scorching, burn-your-flip-flops-off, eyeball-melting New York summer. You were walking as quickly as possible through the crowded city, wondering why anyone would want to be outside in this.

It didn't take you long to reach your destination--a boring beige apartment complex that needed new windows--but you still felt like you were going to pass out. The air conditioning in the lobby was heaven, and almost made you forget why you were there.

The lobby had checkered linoleum flooring, some beige rugs to match the beige walls outside, and lots of plants. Directly across from the entrance was all of the little metal mailboxes for the various tenants. You strolled over lazily, taking your time to rejoice in the cool air pumping from the vents above. After all, the desk clerk was so wrapped up in whatever Netflix series he was watching that he probably wouldn't have cared if you just lay out on the floor and let the sweat drip off you.

You pulled an envelope from your back pocket, and slipped it into the slot for the apartment whose number had been hastily scrawled on your wrist. You watched it fall into the mailbox, and realized that there was no going back now. Unless you wanted to break open the metal box and go searching through the mail, commiting a felony in the process.

Instead, with one last look, you left your letter behind, and steeled yourself for the scorching walk ahead of you.

❈

Dear Steve,

I know you have lots of questions. I'll do my best to answer them.

To start, I have been alive since 1921. I'm a comparitively young immortal, or was a young immortal, but to most people it seems like a very long time. I guess to you, not so much. After all, I was only a few years apart from you when we met. I had actually lived less time than you but now, I'm much, much older. While you were in the ice, I was out here, living.

My mother was a working-class woman who emigrated from Norway, already pregnant with me. She never told me about my father, but I've always assumed he's a lower god of some sort because I do not really have any special abilities except my lifespan. 

To cut to the chase, I did begin to fall in love with you. But I knew that you would fade away, and I would grow old. So I never took steps forward in our relationship. Always kept you at a distance because I knew, in the end, I'd loose you.

When I saw you a few months ago in the cafe, I was shocked. Of course, I've known you were alive since they revived you, but I had hoped you would stay away from your hometown. Maybe I was testing fate, to see if she would bring you back to me. I don't know. But when I saw you, my world came to a halt.

I know you must have changed since I knew you, just like I have, but when I looked into your eyes, I knew you were still Steve. Which is why I ran.

You see, I know that if I stay long in your presence, I will fall all over again. But you, on the other hand, will fall out of love (if you ever were in love to begin with), because I cannot pretend that I have been the best person in the years since I knew you.

I haven't killed anyone, or committed any heinous crimes, but I made a foolish decision just two years ago that I'm going to tell you.

I met a man named Claude (an odd name, don't you think?) and fell in love. Everything was perfect. Unlike with you, I allowed myself to fall. Maybe it was because I was desperate for affection and intimacy, or maybe because I wanted something new and different. I don't know. But I do know that I fell hard much too fast.

I have met an extraordinary cast of characters in my long life, one of them being a witch who lives in the alleys of Brooklyn. She's been alive longer than you and I put together.

The alley witch took my immortality from me so that I could grow old with Claude. But when I returned to our apartment, he was there with another girl.

So here I am, almost exactly one hundred years old, aging like I'm in my thirties, with no friends and nothing to show for my pains.

I tell you all this because you must understand who I am now before you do anything else.

I will be slipping this under your door in an hour, or burning it in my stove. Either way, I hope you move on, because I'm not sure I could live up to your standards.

I'm just a completely normal girl (aside from my old age), and you're Captain America.

Anyway, that is all I have to say. Good day.

~[Y/N]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any thoughts about this, I'd love to hear them!


	4. Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

Fragments of the summer were falling to the earth, coloring it red and brown. The leaves had changed, along with the weather, and people were constantly in and out of the Thames Café. Autumn was a favorite season for people who liked coffee, or any hot drink really, and students were beginning to get serious about studying, so you were never short of things to do.

Steve had been on the news a lot lately, conquering mission after mission. You had "accidentally" dropped the Café's radio that sat in the counter after a mishap with the ice machine. You didn't want to wonder whether he was choosing to ignore your letter, or if he had even read it, or if he had been home at all since you dropped it off. You kept your mind blank, and ignored where it wanted to lead you. The precipice of doubt and fear was one you knew too well. And with experience comes the ability to avoid. So, you avoided thinking, and instead worked from opening to closing time. You were the first one in every morning, and the last one to lock up.

You locked up that night, too, and began your long walk home. You never took the bus or train: living for as long as you had taught you things. You weren't afraid of whatever the night may bring.

Unless that thing was Steve Rogers, you realized, when you saw him standing in front of your apartment building.

There was a moment where you stood, watching each other, waiting. There was a moment where you held each other's gaze, a million words flashing behind your eyes. Then, there was a moment where you were both running as fast as you could towards each other.

Steve swept you up in his arms, instantly burrying his face in your neck. You wrapped your arms around his, holding on as tight as you could. You swayed with him, breathing him in. This was your first hug with Steve Rogers. Sure, there were little flirting touches here and there, but never an embrace. And certainly never a bear hug like this, where you could barely breath, but it didn't matter because you wanted to be as close to him as possible.

He finally set you down, but didn't let you go. His face was inches from yours, his eyes locked with your own, asking a million questions and giving a million answers.

"I got your letter," he breathed. "I haven't been home in so long... I missed it. And when I got home, I was so tired that I just never got around to sorting through the mail. I'm sorry."

You nodded, not sure how to respond. You watched him watching you, and everything you needed to know could be found in those baby blue eyes. You could see the love oozing from the corners where melancholy used to be. It was all the encouragement you needed.

You crashed your lips onto his, once again pulling him as close as possible. Every part of you connected as you moved your lips slowly against his. He kissed back, carefully at first, then eagerly, relishing the moment. It was like lightning had struck you, and was dancing between your bodies. You felt like you were flying.

Even when you broke away, you kept your hands cupped around his neck, and your forehead on his.

"Please," he began softly, "please don't run."

You nodded.

"I want to get to know you. To really know you," he whispered against your lips, his huge hands caressing your back. "If you'll have me," he added shyly, breaking eye contact for just a moment in insecurity. 

"Of course. Why would I not want the man I love to know me?"

You kissed him a second time, underneath the street lamps of New York, underneath the scarlet leaves floating downward, under the stars barely shining against the city lights.

You had lost everything to love. So maybe you should have been terrified. Maybe all the kisses you shared with Steve that night should have made you want to run. But, though Steve hardly knew you, you knew him. He wore his heart on his sleeve, which made it easy for him to steal yours. You knew he loved you. You knew he'd never leave.

Because Steve had lost everything, too, except for you. He was willing to take anything life may throw at him to keep you.

Two years later, you said "I do" under the big oak tree in Prospect Park. And two more years after that, Steve bought three ice cream cones at the same stand you used to always visit: one for you, one for him, and one for the little blonde girl that clung to him like he was everything she needed.

He was a man out of time. And you were a woman out of time. But time hadn't run out. You still had many years of joy ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovelies!! Thanks for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this really short story.  
> Comment and let me know what you thought! I can't wait to hear from you all 😊

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if I'm going to continue this story, to be honest. It all depends on the feedback I get.  
> Either way, I hope y'all enjoyed! This one was pretty different from what I usually write, so I'm curious to see if you like it.  
> Any feedback, kudos, subscriptions, or general comments are really really appreciated!!


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